I float and then I collide with darkness -- Was it always dark? Or did the light perhaps pause on its journey, a flicker here, a thought there, intermingled with echoes of yesterday's wistful dreams being woven by grandmothers or perhaps by waiting clouds, pregnant with memory? Time slips not as sand, but like stories longing to be told, beads scattered, sapphire rivulets, diagraming fate upon a desk cluttered with feather pens An inkpot laughs in raspy letters attached to some clandestine spiral binding. Vanished echoes stretched so porous across yo different constellations, spiraling arcs that are no arcs at all, interrupted only by shifts in the heartbeats of songbirds perched precariously on titan vines, tangled in white wisps faith drapes doesn't need confirming unwind here... unravel there... do we return, trailing whispers intoxicated racing racing? Workmen shaping molten thought, anchors claiming identity thou.. freezing not letting goto those currents nudging ethereal shores. Lustrous echoes there maybe here someday awaiting metamorphosis not in shops but in firelight tales